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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178289">and oh, someone will come running / and i know they'll take you home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/pseuds/memorysdaughter'>memorysdaughter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>got your heart in a headlock [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Disabled Character, F/F, Night Terrors, Panic Attacks, Running</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:29:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,887</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorysdaughter/pseuds/memorysdaughter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer.  Sleeplessness.</p><p>Running.  Rejuvenation.</p><p>First tries.  Finish lines.</p><p>Yasha continues to recover.  Beau gets some advice.  Jester makes shirts (and muffins) for the Little Team Who Could.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beauregard Lionett/Yasha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>got your heart in a headlock [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472777</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>150</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and oh, someone will come running / and i know they'll take you home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a purely self-indulgent series that I write - this little AU world makes me so happy.  I'm glad I can share it with all of you.  Thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, or sends kudos.</p><p>The title is from "You Will Be Found" from the musical Dear Evan Hansen.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>summer schedule</em>
</p><p>7 a.m.  Sunny.  Up.  Workout clothes.  Two smoothies.  Go back up.  Get Yasha up.  Running shoes.  Walk around the block ten times together.  Take Yasha back.  Shower.  Head to work.</p><p>7 a.m.  Cloudy.  Up.  Workout clothes.  Two smoothies.  Go back up.  Get Yasha up.  Running shoes.  Walk around the block ten times together.  Take Yasha back.  Shower.  Head to work.</p><p>7 a.m.  Sunny.  Up.  Workout clothes.  One smoothie.  Go back up.  Make sure panic attack is over.  Hold Yasha until she falls back asleep.  Running shoes.  Run five miles.  Shower.  Head to work.</p><p>7 a.m.  Raining.  Up.  Two smoothies.  Go back up.  Drink smoothies in bed together while cuddling.  Shower.  Head to work.</p><p>7 a.m.  Sunny.  Up.  Workout clothes.  Two smoothies.  Go back up.  Get Yasha up.  Running shoes.  Walk around the block ten times together.  Take Yasha back.  Shower.  Head to work.</p><p>3 a.m.  Still dark.  Up.  Yasha awake from a night terror, screaming, hitting anyone who gets close to her.  Try to give her meds.  Get punched.  Start crying.  Get hug from Jester.  Wait until Yasha stops screaming.  Give meds.  Hold Yasha.  Go back to sleep.  Wake up.  Throw on work clothes.  Eat Pop-Tarts on the way to work.</p><p>7 a.m.  Sunny.  Up.  Workout clothes.  Two smoothies.  Go back up.  Get Yasha up.  Running shoes.  Walk around the block ten times together.  Take Yasha back.  Shower.  Head to work.</p><p>2 am.  Still dark.  Up.  Yasha screaming, terrified, squeezing tightly like she’s afraid Beau will disappear.  Can’t breathe.  Try to talk her out of it.  Can’t.  Try to sing, try to reassure her, try to do anything to make the fear end.  Can’t.  Can only wait.  Give meds.  Rock Yasha back to sleep.  Afraid to move, afraid to wake Yasha.  Heart beating way too fast.  Send text to Dairon.  Sleep until noon.</p><p>7 a.m.  Sunny.  Up.  Workout clothes.  One smoothie.  Running shoes.  Run five miles.  Cut through the park.  See Joel and…?</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>side-by-side</em>
</p><p>“Joel?”</p><p>Joel looks up. “Oh, hello, Beauregard.”</p><p>He’s sitting on a park bench, looking critically down at the back of the complicated wheelchair parked in front of him.  In the wheelchair, facing Beau, sits a young woman with reddish-brown hair pulled up in a half-ponytail.  Like Joel, she’s dressed casually - jean shorts, tee-shirt, short-sleeved button-down over that, Converse sneakers on her feet, sunglasses over her eyes.  A tattoo on her right arm catches Beau’s attention; beautiful fern leaves curl gently in an arc while a moth rests on top.</p><p>The young woman herself seems distant, her hands resting limply in her lap as Joel inspects the wheelchair.  Every few seconds a low, bizarre clicking noise emanates from her mouth, though she seems to be in no distress.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Beau asks.</p><p>“Something’s off with one of these wheels,” Joel answers. “Just was tryin’ to figure out which one.”</p><p>He looks up again at Beau. “I’m sorry, where’s my manners?  This is my daughter Ellie.  Ellie, this is Beauregard.  I told you about her a few months ago when I helped her girlfriend Yasha.”</p><p>Ellie’s head turns towards Beau.  The sunglasses block her eyes, so Beau has no idea what Ellie’s thinking or even if she’s being looked at.</p><p>“Hi, Ellie,” Beau says.</p><p>“Well, kiddo, I don’t think I’m going to figure it out here,” Joel says. “We’d better get back home and take a better look.”</p><p>He stands up. “How’s Yasha doin’, if you don’t mind me askin’?”</p><p>“She’s doing…” Beau sighs. “Better physically, but worse mentally?  Is that a thing?”</p><p>“Seems like it’s entirely possible.  What she went through was absolutely horrifying.” Joel starts pushing the wheelchair on the sidewalk, heading for the south entrance of the park. “You goin’ this way?”</p><p>Beau nods.  Technically she’s not, but it’s her day off, and she’s intrigued by Joel and his daughter.</p><p>“Well, you’re welcome to walk with us as far as we’re goin’,” Joel says. “Sometimes it gets a little lonely, these walks of ours.”</p><p>“Yasha and I walk together in the mornings, usually,” Beau says. “When she’s feeling up to it.”</p><p>“She gettin’ any therapy?”</p><p>“Physical therapy, although that’s dropped to one time a week.  Other than that, no.”</p><p>There must be something in her voice, because Joel looks over at her. “Sounds like she might need somethin’ else.”</p><p>Beau nods, emotion keeping her throat hard.</p><p>“You’re always welcome to walk with us,” Joel offers. “We start at the head of the trail down by the bookstore and walk down and around through the park.”</p><p>Beau tries to smile. “We’d… I’d like that.”</p><p>They walk the length of the park and turn out onto one of the many tree-lined streets around it.  The summer heat is just starting to warm the air; birds chirp from their position in the flowery branches of trees.  Summer flowers push up out of beds and window boxes.  It’s a lazy-feeling morning, and as Beau slows her stride to keep even with Joel, she feels relaxed for the first time in days.</p><p>Ellie’s head occasionally moves, though Beau can’t tell what she’s looking at.  Her hands lay in her lap for the most part but will occasionally clench into fists, and every few minutes she lets out the low, oddly creepy clicking noise.  She doesn’t seem to be upset, and Joel doesn’t react as though she’s in distress.</p><p>“Joel,” Beau says, “I don’t know how to ask this, but…”</p><p>“Brain tumor,” Joel answers, as though he’s been waiting for the question. “Big nasty one.  Looked like some kinda fungus in her head.  They got most of it and it looked like she was gonna be okay… we celebrated her nineteenth birthday and the next day she stroked out while I was cookin’ breakfast.”</p><p>“Oh,” Beau breathes. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Joel shrugs. “We’ve been through a lot together.  This is just one more thing.”</p><p>He affectionately ruffles Ellie’s hair and for the first time since Beau approached, she lets out a soft hum that sounds like appreciation.</p><p>“Is there any… hope… for her?” Beau asks.  She’s not even sure why she’s asking.  It’s none of her business.</p><p>“There’s been changes,” Joel says. “She used to be unresponsive, just a body in a bed.  I took her out’a the hospital and brought her home and I started to see her come around.  She’ll look at me now, but I don’t know if she remembers me.  I like to think she does - you heard her make that gentle noise.  She doesn’t do that for everyone.</p><p>“She goes to PT three times a week, music therapy once a week, and has an OT come to the house… other’n that we’ve tried everythin’.  Weird stuff.  Just wanted to see if it was worth it.  Most of it wasn’t.</p><p>“An’ I go to therapy,” Joel says. “Talk therapy.  It’s done good things for me.  Had a lotta anger with all this.  An’ a lotta pent-up feelings.  I was the one who watched her… who watched her…”</p><p>Beau nods, trying to tell him he doesn’t have to say the words, doesn’t have to relive what was probably one of the most traumatic days of his life.</p><p>“Might be a good idea for Yasha.  Or you.  Or both of ya,” Joel says. “I can give you the names of some reputable folks.”</p><p>They walk to a ranch house in the middle of one of the tree-lined streets, not speaking much.  After twenty minutes, Ellie’s clicking no longer seems odd or out-of-place, and Beau finds herself enjoying the close-to-silence.</p><p>Joel opens the front door and pushes Ellie’s chair in. “You want a glass of water, Beau?”</p><p>“No, I’m fine, thanks.”</p><p>“All right.” Joel goes over to a desk in the corner of the living room and returns with two business cards. “These are some therapists I’ve worked with before.  One of ‘em might be a good fit for you and Yasha.”</p><p>Beau slips the cards into her pocket. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Come and walk with us any time,” Joel says. “Yasha’s… she’s important to me, and I’d like to know she’s doin’ all right.”</p><p>“You’re pretty great, Joel,” Beau says.</p><p>“I just try my best.  An’ that’s all I can ask of anyone else, I suppose.”</p><p>Beau’s not sure where it comes from, but she hugs him before she leaves him and Ellie in their home.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>exhausted</em>
</p><p>Yasha sits on the porch swing, pushing it back and forth with her toes.  Her head is heavy and she feels groggy.  It’s been more than a week since she’s slept well.  Even on the nights she hasn’t woken screaming or thrown directly into a panic attack, she’s been unable to feel fully rested.  And on top of that, she feels terrible about the situation she’s leaving her housemates - her <em> family - </em>in.  She knows none of them are getting good sleep, either.</p><p>She likes the feeling of the porch under her bare feet.  The swing’s making her drowsy.  She wonders if sleeping outside would fix her problems, or if her screams would just wake up the entire neighborhood.</p><p>It’s memories that keep her trapped.  Memories both sighted and blind, of Zuala and prison and strangers and beatings.  Of Dr. Obann, of force-feeding, of scalpels against her skin.  Of waking in the ICU, air-hungry, trying to scream while intubated.  It all swirls together and it won’t let her go.</p><p>Sometimes Zuala turns into one of the faceless attackers from her walk home.  Sometimes Dr. Obann turns into Keg.  Sometimes it’s Beau beating her, fists slamming into Yasha’s body, breaking bones and causing pain.</p><p>When she wakes it seems all she can do is scream.  Helplessly, futilely, reduced to nothing but rage and terror.  When it’s more rage than terror, she fights back, swings out, driving her fists into whoever’s come to help her.  It’s usually Beau and Yasha feels horrified when she wakes, remembering the night’s battle - an inverse of some of her nightmares.  When it’s more terror than rage, she won’t let go of Beau, gulping air, unable to suck in enough to sustain her.</p><p>She doesn’t understand why they haven’t kicked her out yet.  Clearly she’s not safe.  She’s not letting them sleep.  They don’t want to take care of her - and she’s an adult, she should be able to take care of herself.  Even blind, she should be better than this.  They deserve better.</p><p>She hears footsteps coming up the walk and tries to parse out who’s approaching.  Beau is one, and the other... not light enough to be Jester, not heavy enough to be Fjord.  Two people, though.  Beau and…</p><p>“Hi, Yasha.”</p><p>It’s Dr. Trickfoot and Yasha feels fear spike into her heart. “No,” she says.</p><p>“No what?” Beau asks, sitting down next to her.</p><p>“No, I can’t,” Yasha blurts out. “Please don’t make me.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” Beau’s voice is gentle.  She takes Yasha’s hand but Yasha jerks it away, her skin suddenly on fire.</p><p>“I can’t - no - no doctors,” Yasha stammers. “No.  I don’t want to go.”</p><p>“Where do you think you’d go?” Dr. Trickfoot asks softly.  She sounds further away than Beau, which means she stopped when Yasha first got upset.  Even caught in her anxiety spiral, Yasha appreciates that.</p><p>“You’d get rid of me,” Yasha says.</p><p>“No, we wouldn’t,” Beau says firmly. “You belong here.  This is your home.”</p><p>Yasha leans forward.  She feels nauseous.</p><p>“We’re worried about you,” Beau goes on, a little more gently.</p><p>“That’s what they say before… they take you away.” The nausea is worse.  Yasha pulls her hands into fists, tight, feeling her nails dig into her palms.</p><p>“No one’s taking you anywhere,” Beau says.</p><p><em> I wouldn’t let them, </em> Yasha thinks fiercely.  <em> I would… </em></p><p>And there she stops. What would she do?  She’s fucking blind and exhausted and her body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.  Hot uselessness flows through her arms and drains through her body.  Her stomach is boiling, roiling.  She gags.</p><p>Instantly there’s a hand on the back of her neck, pushing down - not hard, but firmly.  Her head flops forward between her knees.</p><p>“Take a deep breath,” Beau says, her voice calm and caring. “Slow down.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to do.”</p><p>“Yasha,” Beau says, hurt.</p><p>“Don’t <em> tell </em>me…” Yasha gags again and bursts up from the swing, stumbling forward.  Her hands slam into the railing of the porch and she hangs over it, vomiting into the flower bushes.</p><p>“Oh, Yasha,” Beau whispers.  She sighs and gets up from the swing, carefully approaching Yasha. “I’m going to touch you now, okay?  Gently.  I want to help you sit down.  Tell me if that’s not okay.”</p><p>Her stomach emptied, all Yasha feels is embarrassment and shame.  Tears fill her eyes and she turns to grab onto Beau.  As though she’s drunk, she stumbles forward.  Beau catches her and lowers her to the porch.</p><p>Yasha puts her head down and sobs.</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Trickfoot has never looked <em> alarmed, </em> Beau realizes as she studies the doctor.  But there’s definitely a look of <em> serious concern </em> in Dr. Trickfoot’s eyes now, moving back and forth from Yasha to Beau’s face.</p><p>Beau gently takes a few steps away from the sobbing Yasha and towards the doctor.</p><p>“How long has this been going on?” Dr. Trickfoot asks softly.</p><p>Beau shrugs. “A week, maybe two?”</p><p>“And she’s… volatile like this, every time?”</p><p>“No.  It’s usually worse when she wakes up in the middle of the night.  Normally she’s okay during the day.  I don’t know what happened today - maybe it was showing up here with a doctor that got her.”</p><p>“Still not a fan of medical professionals, eh?” Dr. Trickfoot smiles.</p><p>Beau shakes her head.</p><p>“She seems very… different than the Yasha I’m used to,” Dr. Trickfoot goes on. “At this point I’d want to give her a sedative.”</p><p>“She already has the anti-anxiety meds you prescribed.”</p><p>“This would be different.  It would knock her out.  Give her body twelve to fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep.  She seems absolutely exhausted, and you don’t look much better.  I’d recommend you sleep in separate beds for a few days.”</p><p>Beau reaches into her pocket and comes out with the two business cards Joel gave her. “Um, someone gave me these cards.  They’re therapists.  Do you know either of them?”</p><p>Dr. Trickfoot looks down at the cards. “I know both of them,” she says.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“They’re both excellent individuals.  Keyleth is a therapist, so she can only provide counseling, but Dr. Vysoren is a psychiatrist who can prescribe medication as well.  Really, either of them would be an excellent choice.  I can call and… make some introductions, if you’d like.”</p><p>“Yes,” Beau says. “Yes.  Something… she’s just in so much pain.”</p><p>Dr. Trickfoot nods. “I agree.  I’m going to write for the sedative, and I’ll go down to the pharmacy and get it for you.”</p><p>“What would we do without you?” Beau asks, a half-smile on her face.</p><p>“I’d hope you’d have someone else on your side,” Dr. Trickfoot said.  She squeezes Beau’s hand.</p><p>She leaves, and Beau goes back up onto the porch.  Yasha’s shoulders still shudder, but she’s no longer crying.</p><p>Yasha raises her head. <em> “Xa zyray,” </em> she says to Beau.  <em> I’m tired. </em></p><p>“I know,” Beau says. “Can I hold you?”</p><p>Yasha nods.</p><p>Beau sits down on the porch next to Yasha, and rocks the two of them back and forth.</p><p>“I’m scared,” Yasha whispers.</p><p>“Of what?”</p><p>“Of hurting you.”</p><p>“You can’t.”</p><p>“No, I <em> can,” </em> Yasha says, and there’s something sharp and serious in her voice. “I’m hurting you right now.  I hurt you the other night when I punched you.”</p><p>“Do you know what’s hurting me the most?” Beau asks.</p><p>Yasha shakes her head.</p><p>“Seeing you in pain.  We need to fix that.” Beau kisses Yasha’s cheek. “Did you hear what Dr. Trickfoot and I were talking about?”</p><p>“No,” Yasha whispers.</p><p>“She wants to give you some medication to help you sleep better.”</p><p>Yasha tenses.</p><p>“It’s <em> your choice </em> if you want to take it,” Beau says quickly. “I won’t force you to take it.  But you’re <em> so </em> tired.  You need to rest.  This medicine would let you do that.”</p><p>“Will you stay with me?”</p><p>“If that’s what you want, I will.”</p><p>Yasha shifts and trails her fingers down Beau’s arm until she finds the Braille tattoo, then begins running her thumb over it.</p><p>“I also think it’s time we find someone to talk to about what’s been going on,” Beau says. “Like… a therapist.  Do you know about therapy?”</p><p>“Physical therapy,” Yasha says.</p><p>“This is more like… brain therapy.  I went when I was a kid because my dad thought I wasn’t ‘well-adjusted.’  I had to go talk to some lady once a week for a couple of years.”</p><p>“Did she fix you?”</p><p>“That’s the thing about therapy - it doesn’t really fix you.  You have to do the fixing, mostly by talking things out.  Maybe doing some thinking or some writing.  Sometimes there’s art.”</p><p>“I want to be fixed.”</p><p>“I know.  And that’s a very hard thing to want.  It’s going to take a lot of work, and a therapist might help you.”</p><p>“Will you go with me?”</p><p>“I can go to the first appointment, maybe,” Beau says. “Therapy’s kind of a thing you do on your own, though.  Just you and your therapist.  That way you can say things in private and no one else has to know.”</p><p>“But I would have to tell them things first.”</p><p>Beau smiles. “That’s kind of how it works.”</p><p>“That scares me.”</p><p>“Therapy usually is a little scary.  It can be hard to let other people know things about you, especially if you don’t feel good about those things.”</p><p>Yasha sighs and rests her head on Beau’s shoulder. <em> “Xa zyray,” </em> she repeats, softer.</p><p>“We can help you with that.  Just… stay awake with me right now, and when Dr. Trickfoot gets back you can sleep.  I’ll turn the fan on in your room, and we’ll let the summer breeze come in through the window, and I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep.”</p><p>“That sounds nice,” Yasha murmurs.</p><p> </p><p>And it turns out to be pretty nice, when Dr. Trickfoot’s dropped off the medicine and gone.  Yasha changes into a tank top and sleep shorts, and she sits on the edge of the bed.  Beau carefully puts a pill into one of Yasha’s hands and a glass of water in the other.</p><p>“This is your choice,” Beau tells her. “But you’ll sleep for a long time, and maybe feel better when you wake up.”</p><p>“And you’ll stay?”</p><p>“I’ll stay.”</p><p>“Okay,” Yasha says, and she puts the pill into her mouth, washing it down with the water.</p><p>Beau takes back the glass, setting it on the bedside table.  She turns on the fan before getting into bed next to Yasha.  It’s a little different - they haven’t slept together in Yasha’s room for several months, though she knows Yasha likes to take naps in her own space every now and then.</p><p>“Stay,” Yasha repeats, already sounding drowsy.</p><p>“I’m right here,” Beau promises.  She kisses Yasha’s forehead.</p><p>“Good,” Yasha breathes.</p><p>She keeps her hand loosely wrapped around Beau’s arm, and her blinks get slower and slower, until after several minutes her eyes stay closed.</p><p>Beau lays in bed, watching as Yasha relaxes.  Tears fill her eyes as she watches Yasha finally at peace.</p><p> </p><p>Downstairs Jester and Fjord are putting away groceries.  The afternoon’s waning and Beau smells rain in the air.</p><p>“I need to go… out for a bit,” Beau says, a bit roughly. “You okay with that?”</p><p>“Of course,” Jester says.</p><p>“Yasha’s… asleep.”</p><p>“Dr. Trickfoot was able to help?” Fjord asks.</p><p>Beau nods.  She can’t figure out what she’s thinking, other than that if she can’t get out of the house she’s going to explode. “She’ll sleep for awhile.”</p><p>“Okay,” Jester says. “You want us to save some dinner for you?”</p><p>“Sure,” Beau says, even though she isn’t sure if she wants dinner or if she could even eat at this point.</p><p>“All right,” Fjord says. “Be safe.”</p><p>Beau grabs her gym bag and steps out onto the driveway.</p><p>Rain brushes against her face as she gets into her car.  It feels like cool relief - relief she hasn’t earned.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>sucker punch</em>
</p><p>The dojo parking lot is full when Beau arrives; she’s forgotten that it’s Tuesday: kids class night.  She never teaches the kids and never hangs out long on Tuesday, but it’ll have to do.</p><p>She passes through the foyer and by the two big rooms where Dairon and Zeenoth are busy teaching kids the finer arts of the martial arts practiced by the way of the Cobalt Soul and makes a beeline for one of the upper workout rooms, generally empty on Tuesday nights.</p><p>Beau pushes open the door and slings her gym bag to the floor.  She hunches down to wrap her hands while her heartbeat pulses at the back of her head.  With quick, practiced movements she stretches and goes through a few of her basic <em> katas</em>.  Then she turns her attention to the heavy bag.</p><p>
  <em> Thwap.  Whack.  Thwap. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t be Zuala. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thwap.  Thwap.  Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t bring Zuala back. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Whack.  Whack.  Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t fix Yasha. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thwap.  Whack.  Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t make Yasha happy. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Whack.  Thwap.  Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t keep Yasha safe. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thwap.  Whack.  Whack. </em>
</p><p><em> Why do I feel so </em> <em> inadequate </em> <em> ? </em></p><p>
  <em> Whack.  Whack.  Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I can’t let my guard down because if I do someone will get hurt. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thwap. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It might be me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> It might be Yasha. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Whack.  Thwap.  Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I promised her I would never hurt her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Whack. Whack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> What if she gets hurt anyway and I couldn’t stop it? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Thwap.  Thwap.  Whack. </em>
</p><p><em> Why do I feel so </em> <em> powerless </em> <em> ? </em></p><p><em> Whack.  Whack.  </em> <b> <em>Whack.</em> </b></p><p><em> Why do I feel so </em> <em> useless </em> <em> ? </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>Whack.  Whack.  Whack.</em> </b>
</p><p><em> I can’t lose her.  I </em> <em> can’t </em> <em> lose her. </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>Whap.  Thwack.</em> </b>
</p><p><em> I </em> <em> won’t </em> <em> lose her. </em></p><p>
  <b> <em>Whap.</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Please don’t let me lose her. </em>
</p><p>Beau sags back, sobbing, blood streaking the wraps around her hands.  She crumples to the floor, holding her head, curling into a ball.  Her stomach twists and she cries unabashedly, her forehead pressed against the mats on the floor.</p><p>At some point she registers a hand on her back.  Beau gulps for air and turns her head to the side.  Blurrily she sees Dairon kneeling on the mat next to her.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Beau gasps out.</p><p>“For expressing emotion?”</p><p>“No.  For…” Beau can’t explain.</p><p>“I am worried about you, Beauregard.” Dairon gently takes one of Beau’s hands and begins to undo the wraps. “You were never sloppy like this before.”</p><p>“I’m a fuckup.”</p><p>“You know I don’t care for that language.”</p><p>“I’m… a failure.”</p><p>“And I don’t care for <em> that </em> either, since it’s untrue.” Dairon peels off the remaining wrap and makes a <em> tsk </em> noise as she takes in the state of Beau’s knuckles. “You’re the furthest thing from a failure.”</p><p>She leans over and opens a first aid kit sitting on the mat next to her.  Without any further word, Dairon begins to clean and dress Beau’s knuckles.</p><p>“I can’t… I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong.”</p><p>“Who told you that you were doing something wrong?”</p><p>“No one <em> told </em> me.”</p><p>“So no one’s told you that you’re doing something wrong, and yet you feel you’re a failure for… doing something you haven’t been doing?” Dairon reaches for the other hand, the other wraps, and Beau lets her.</p><p>“I’m not doing enough.”</p><p>“By whose standards?”</p><p>“Mine?”</p><p>“Then they are impossibly high.” Dairon sits back on her heels and looks at Beau. “You have a job.  You have a home.  You have a wonderful little family.  You have a beautiful, fascinating girlfriend who you love very much and who seems to feel exactly the same way about you.  You take care of yourself.  You’re kind to children and animals and the elderly.  Three years ago you took on one of the biggest sacrifices anyone could ask for and gave a home to someone displaced by the war.”</p><p>She says all of this matter-of-factly while she finishes bandaging Beau’s hand. “You are, Beauregard Lionett, an amazing woman.  You are kind, and brave, and generous, and loyal, and hardworking, and gentle, and these are all things worth being.  If you haven’t been doing something, it is through no fault of your own.”</p><p>Beau looks down at her hands, now cleaned and bandaged.</p><p>“My guess is that this is about Yasha,” Dairon says.</p><p>Beau nods.</p><p>“There are very few couples who experience the things you’ve experienced together.  I don’t know if anyone has a blueprint for how to get through them.  I certainly don’t have one for you.  But I do know that there’s absolutely no shame in asking for help when you are unable to fix things on your own.”</p><p>She gives Beau a knowing look. “You came to me a scrappy little smartass and you’ve turned into one of my best instructors.  You’ve become a leader and someone I can trust to do well with my business when I cannot be here.  There aren’t many people I trust at the level I do with you.  But you earned it.  You asked for help along the way and so many others lifted you up.  Is now a time to look for more of those kind of people?”</p><p>Slowly Beau nods again. “I’m scared for her,” she says, her voice puny in the big room. “I can’t be what she needs.”</p><p>“There’s no shame in admitting that, and finding someone who can help.  Not everything can be carried alone.”</p><p>Beau thinks of Joel, of how she never would have thought such pain and struggle existed beyond his gentle, kind demeanor.  She thinks of Ellie, of hearing the bizarre clicks resonate from a girl whose nineteenth birthday was the last memory she ever made.  She thinks of Keg, carrying around the remnants of war on her body.  She thinks of her father, for whom a lifetime of hands-off parenting and vilification nearly cost him a relationship with her.</p><p>And she thinks of Yasha.</p><p>
  <em> I can’t be Zuala. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> And that has to be enough. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But what if it’s not? </em>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>nights like these</em>
</p><p>Darkness.  Hands on her.  Pain.  Slicing through her.  Grabbing at her.  Holding her down.</p><p>Fighting.  Trying.  Trying to fight back.</p><p>Held down.  Cuffs on her wrists.  Metal hurts, digs into her skin.</p><p>Fists pounding into her chest, her stomach, her back.  Feet slamming into her spine, her head.</p><p>Unable to breathe.  Tube down her throat.  Can’t speak.  Can’t scream.</p><p>Then only screaming.  Screaming and darkness.</p><p>Screaming.  Arms windmilling, clawing out.  Connecting.  Punching.  Pushing.</p><p>Arms hitting things.  Hands grabbing things.  Hands throwing things.</p><p>Hearing things hit the wall, the floor.  Knowing she’s out of control but can’t stop.</p><p>Can’t breathe.  Can’t speak.  Can only scream.</p><p> </p><p>Beau drifts, half awake, listening to the night.  She comes to sharp attention as soon as she hears Yasha, a thin little noise rising to a wail emanating from Yasha’s mouth.  Yasha sits bolt upright, shaking, eyes wide open.  Beau sees sweat dripping down Yasha’s face.</p><p>“Yash,” Beau says softly, trying not to startle Yasha.</p><p>Yasha’s head whips towards Beau, her expression terrified.  She screams and shoves herself back from Beau.  The movement sends her over the edge of the bed and Yasha hits the floor, hard.  She screams again and punches forward, trying to hit anything.  Her knuckles crack against the bed-frame and Yasha howls.</p><p>“Yasha,” Beau says, getting out of bed. “Yasha, it’s me.  It’s Beau.  You’re safe.”</p><p>She stays six feet from Yasha, her eyes tight on Yasha’s shaking, shivering form.  Yasha reaches out again, hands flailing for anything near her. <em> “Ad’jam!” </em> she screams.  <em> Please! </em></p><p>Beau wants to reach out, wants to hold Yasha; she knows it’s not safe but that doesn’t stop her from wanting to try.  Instead she summons her limited Xhorhassian vocabulary. <em> “Xe ta’abe xam,” </em> she tells Yasha.  <em> You are safe here. </em></p><p><em> “Ad’jam, xa zjerba!” </em> Yasha screams at her.  <em> Please, I’m scared! </em></p><p><em> “Xe ta’abe xam,” </em> Beau repeats softly, firmly, patiently.</p><p>Yasha punches out again and hits nothing.  She slams her hands into the floor and howls out something Beau doesn’t understand.</p><p>The light in the hallway comes on and Jester stands in the door holding a glass of water and a bottle of pills. “Can we try?” she asks.</p><p>Beau nods.  She feels so dangerously close to the edge again.  She wants to hit something or even <em> be </em>hit; she would give anything for Yasha’s punches to slam into her body, taking Yasha’s pain until it’s gone.</p><p>From behind her she hears Yasha’s wailing slow, turning into panicked breaths and sobs. “Beau?  <em> Beau?” </em></p><p>“I’m here,” Beau says.  She takes the pills and the water from Jester and carefully approaches Yasha, kneeling before her. “You with us?”</p><p>“I’m… I’m sorry,” Yasha gulps. “I’m so sorry, Beau.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Beau says. “I promise.  Will you take some medicine?”</p><p>“Fingers… hurt,” Yasha says.  She accepts the pill and swallows it down.</p><p>“I know.  You hit the bed,” Beau tells her gently. “Jes, can you turn on the light?  I’ll take a look at your hand.”</p><p>Under the bedroom light Beau carefully inspects Yasha’s hand.  It’s swelling rapidly and at least two of Yasha’s fingers seem to be at odd angles.  Beau tries pressing on a few different spots and Yasha hisses with pain at each one.</p><p>“It looks broken,” Jester says, kneeling next to Beau.</p><p>“You did hit the bed really hard, Yash,” Beau says.  She attempts to straighten one of Yasha’s fingers.  Yasha screams. “Okay, okay, okay.  I won’t do that.  But I do think you need to go to the ER.”</p><p>“No,” Yasha whimpers. “No, please, Beau.”</p><p>“It’ll be okay.  I’ll go with you,” Beau says, her voice steady. “I won’t leave you alone.  We’ll go get it looked at and we’ll come right home.”</p><p>“No, no,” Yasha pleads.  She reaches up for Beau, wrapping her arms around Beau’s shoulders.  Beau sees tears in her eyes.</p><p>“I know it’s scary,” Beau says.  She isn’t sure where she’s finding the strength to even stay upright; her entire body throbs with exhaustion and there’s so much pain in Yasha’s face that she can’t fix. “I know.  Please just trust me.”</p><p>It’s all she has, and she’s not sure how it works, but Yasha finally nods.</p><p> </p><p>The anti-anxiety pill kicks in while they’re in the car, leaving Yasha loose-limbed and a little goofy.  Beau fetches a wheelchair from the ER, since Yasha’s coordination is pretty much gone.  Once they’re checked in, they sit together in the mostly-empty waiting area, holding hands.</p><p>“Beau,” Yasha whispers. “Beau.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Beau.  You are… <em> so </em> nice.”</p><p>“You’re nice too.”</p><p>“You’re too nice.”</p><p>“I’ll try to work on it.”</p><p>“Beau.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“You’re so pretty.”</p><p>“To be fair, Yasha, you don’t technically know that.” The tension from the dark bedroom is slowly seeping out of Beau’s body and it’s allowing her a little space to be gently amused with drugged Yasha.</p><p>“Yeah, but…” Yasha tilts her head, her expression a bit dopey and wistful. “... but Jester told me it, so it must be true.  And you <em> sound </em> pretty.  And the way your fingers feel, that’s pretty.”</p><p><em> That’s </em> nearly enough to make Beau cry, so she hurriedly looks away, focusing her eyes on the wall-mounted TV, which is playing an infomercial for some sort of miracle stepladder.</p><p>“... made out of the toughest, most refined Hupperdook steel…”</p><p>It takes a little more than an hour for Yasha’s hand to be examined, X-rayed, reset, and casted.  During that time Beau watches the stepladder infomercial six times, until she’s nearly ready to buy one herself.</p><p>When they’re driving home, the streetlights passing overhead like strange amber moons, Yasha leans her head against the window. “Beau,” she says softly, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about therapy.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I think… I think maybe I should talk to someone.”</p><p>“That’s a very brave thing to realize.”</p><p>Yasha lets out a soft <em> hmm. </em> “I only have two hands,” she says after a beat, “and I need one of them to use my cane.  So it might be better to talk to someone before both of them get hurt.”</p><p>“You need both your hands,” Beau says. “Just trust me on this one.”</p><p>She’s not expecting it, but it feels perfectly just-like-normal when Yasha laughs and says, “Yes, Beau, I know <em> exactly </em> what you want me to use my hands for.”</p><p>“I could be talking about reading Braille,” Beau says, glad Yasha can’t see her cheeks flush.</p><p>“Were you?”</p><p>“You know I wasn’t.”</p><p>“I do.  And I still love you for it.”</p><p>The word <em> love </em> catches in the air, like a star suddenly pinned to a corkboard, and though it can’t erase the trauma of the evening, it puts a little glow on it, softens the edges, and starts it down the road of <em> going to be okay.</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>five-kay?  okay</em>
</p><p>“You like to run?”</p><p>Yasha raises her head. “That’s an interesting question, Grog.”</p><p>“Sorry.  Um, <em> do </em> you like to run?”</p><p>Yasha grins, since that wasn’t what she’d meant at all. “I haven’t done a lot of running recently.”</p><p>“You wanna do some running?”</p><p>“Like, right now?  I thought we were going to work on the garden.”</p><p>“We are.  The running is for later.  The Center’s holding a five-kay,” Grog says. “To raise money for the new greenhouses.”</p><p>“A five-kay,” Yasha repeats.  She doesn’t know what that means.</p><p>“It’s a race,” Grog explains. “Me an’ Pike do them sometimes.  She says she does ‘em to get the shirts.”</p><p>“A race with shirts,” Yasha says.  She picks up the watering can and moves to the next raised bed.</p><p>“You get the shirt <em> after </em> the race,” Grog says. “Also sometimes there’s doughnuts and juice and stuff.”</p><p>He approaches her. “I thought we could… train together.  Keg told me ‘bout how to run with a blind person.”</p><p>“Oh, did she?” Yasha has to smile at the thought of Grog and Keg, deep in conversation - two of her biggest supporters, one actually big, one short.</p><p>“Mm-hmm.  I’m practically an expert now.”</p><p>“I think I’d like that,” Yasha says.</p><p>“Okay,” Grog says. “Um… and maybe Beau wants to join us?  She… runs.”</p><p>“She does,” Yasha says softly.  It’s the first time Grog’s actively invited Beau to be a part of their adventures together, and it’s surprisingly touching. “I’ll ask her.”</p><p>“She could push someone.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“There’s a bunch a’ people in wheelchairs who sign up to do the race, and somebody pushes ‘em,” Grog clarifies. “She’d be good at that - she’s strong.”</p><p>Yasha smiles. “She is.”</p><p>“Yasha?” A third voice cuts through the late afternoon air.  Yasha recognizes it immediately as that of her therapist, Keyleth, who works out of the Storm Lord Center. “Would you like to have our session outdoors today?”</p><p>“Oh.  I didn’t know that was an option,” Yasha says.</p><p>“Lots of things are options!” Keyleth says brightly. “We could sit on the terrace outside my office, or on the benches on the other side of the parking lot, or...”</p><p>Yasha’s brain short-circuits.  Those are too many options.  She needs the security of Keyleth’s office, of the chairs there, the one that she always cradles herself into, pulling her worry stones and Zuala’s pendant from her pocket and lining them up on her leg, putting her cane on the floor to let her sneaker-toe roll it back and forth when she needs to move - she needs the routine and the -</p><p>“You can tell ‘er you wanna go inside,” Grog says gently, and his big hand on Yasha’s breaks the cycle of looped anxiety. “She’s not gonna be mad.”</p><p>He raises his voice. “Are ya, Kiki?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Yasha wants to go inside.”</p><p>“Of course!  That’s fine,” Keyleth says.  She doesn’t sound upset.</p><p>“Sometimes her brain just gets all fancy,” Grog tells Yasha softly. “I’ll see ya later, racing buddy.”</p><p>Yasha smiles, and the rest of her tense body relaxes. “I’ll see you later, Grog.”</p><p>She <em> likes </em> Keyleth, and it’s been a good two months getting comfortable with Keyleth, but sometimes Yasha thinks she’d rather just have Grog as her therapist instead.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s awesome!  I’d love to run a 5K with you,” Beau says that night as they’re making dinner.</p><p>“Grog says there’s people who sign up to get pushed,” Yasha says.  She carefully cuts one end off the carrot, then the other. “In their wheelchairs.  He thinks you could do that, because you’re strong.”</p><p>“Huh,” Beau says.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing, I just… I just thought of someone we could ask to run with us.”</p><p>“If this team gets any bigger, we’ll have to get shirts,” Yasha says.  She places her finger in the middle of the carrot and cuts on the other side of it.</p><p>Beau laughs. “C’mon, we’d look great in matching shirts.  And we could let Jester come up with a team name for us.  She’s good with shit like that.”</p><p>Yasha moves her fingers and starts slicing the carrot halves into coins. “Who are you thinking about?”</p><p>“Oh, so you get to decide who’s on our team?”</p><p>“It’s <em> my </em> team,” Yasha replies with a grin. “Mine and Grog’s, I guess.”</p><p>“Well, I think you’d be okay with whoever I choose.”</p><p>“Not Fjord,” Yasha says, lowering her voice slightly. “When he goes for a run with you he comes back all sad.  One time I think he threw up under the carport.”</p><p>“No, not Fjord.  Jesus, no,” Beau says.  Yasha hears one of the stove burners snap on, hears Beau <em> clank </em> a pan on top of it. “No, he whines way too much about cardio.”</p><p>“I can <em> hear </em> you!” Fjord hollers from the living room.</p><p>“It’s true!” Beau yells back.  In her normal tone, she says, “I’m thinking about Joel’s daughter.”</p><p>Yasha rests the knife against the chopping board. “My bus driver Joel?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Beau says.  Yasha hears something go into the pan, then a low sizzling sound.</p><p>“How do you know Joel has a daughter?”</p><p>“I met her,” Beau answers. “In the park one day.  I was running.”</p><p>“And she likes to run?”</p><p>“She doesn’t run,” Beau says. </p><p>“She doesn’t run?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“But you want her to be on our running team?”</p><p>“You done with those carrots?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Beau reaches over and takes the entire chopping board from beneath Yasha’s hands.  There’s a soft <em> hiss </em> as they slide into the pan. “Joel’s daughter… she’s in a wheelchair,” she says.</p><p>“Oh,” Yasha says. “I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“How could you know?” Beau asks.</p><p>Yasha shrugs.  She puts her knife into the sink. “Do you think she’d want to run with us?”</p><p>“Who doesn’t like to run?”</p><p>“Fjord,” Yasha points out, and they both laugh when Fjord hollers <em> “I can </em> <em> hear </em> <em> you!” </em> from the other room.  Their giggles fill up the kitchen, and though Yasha can’t see it, it feels like the room’s full of light.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>the little team who could</em>
</p><p>They get shirts, because once Jester hears about it there is no other option.</p><p>She also makes them muffins to take over to Joel’s house, and on a Saturday morning they pick up Grog from the duplex he shares with Dr. Trickfoot and her husband.  He crams into the back of Beau’s car, wiping sleep from his eyes as he looks over at the basket. “Those muffins?”</p><p>“Yes, there’s two in a little box for you,” Yasha tells him.</p><p>“Fanks,” Grog says, his mouth already full.</p><p>“Do you run a lot, Grog?” Beau asks.</p><p>“Mmm, no,” Grog answers. “Not, like, <em> a lot. </em>  But, you know, the right amount.”</p><p>Beau has no idea what that means.</p><p>When they knock on Joel’s door, a motley crew in matching T-shirts with a (noticeably depleted) basket of muffins, he looks troubled, but he gives them a smile.  In a loud voice, to be heard above the noise resonating from behind him, he says, “Didn’t realize it was caroling season already.”</p><p>His smile broadens as he sees Yasha. “Miss Yasha, can I give you a hug?”</p><p>“Hi, Joel,” Yasha says, going bright red.</p><p>He wraps his arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re doin’ all right.”</p><p>When he lets her go, he looks at the rest of the group. “Now, what’re y’all doin’ here?”</p><p>“We have an… interesting request,” Beau says, and she hands him the basket of muffins.</p><p>“Why don’t you come in?” Joel says. “Uh, sorry for the mess.”</p><p>He opens the door and ushers them into a cluttered living room.  Boxes of medical supplies, some of them open, are strewn about the open floor between the entertainment center and the couch; some perch on the coffee table, some sit on the kitchen counters.  Amidst the chaos sits a complicated wheelchair, and in it, an upset-looking, clicking, squealing, writhing young woman, sitting up to face the beautiful morning and apparently furious about it.</p><p>“Look, Ellie!” Joel says, loudly. “Visitors!”</p><p>The clicking and squealing stops for a few beats and Ellie’s head turns in the direction of her father’s voice.</p><p>“Thank you,” Joel breathes. “Please, baby girl, just… just give me a few minutes.”</p><p>He looks towards the group of visitors.</p><p>“Hi, Ellie,” Beau says, and approaches the wheelchair. “I’m Beau.  Not sure if you remember me.  We met awhile ago in the park.”</p><p>Ellie’s eyes, Beau can see, are bright green.  They lock onto Beau’s face.</p><p>“Hi,” Beau repeats. “Um, I brought my girlfriend Yasha, and our friend Grog to visit.  We wanted to ask you a question.”</p><p>Grog carefully comes over and plops himself down in the big armchair next to Ellie’s wheelchair.  Delicately, he picks up her hand and holds it. “Nice t’ meet ya.  I’m Grog.”</p><p>She turns her head to look at Grog.</p><p>Joel gently touches Yasha’s arm. “You want some water?  Juice?”</p><p>“Um, yeah.  Yeah, that’d be okay,” Yasha says.</p><p>“And I’ll clear you a path,” Joel says. “Sorry ‘bout the mess - ah, but you can’t see it.”</p><p>He sounds just as gentle as he always did, and Yasha relaxes.</p><p>“Oh, Yasha, c’mere,” Beau says.</p><p>Fingers touch her elbow, and Yasha takes a few steps forward.  Her cane finds things on the floor, but Beau guides her around them. “C’mon, sit here,” Beau says.</p><p>Yasha sits, and hears the clicking noise turn towards her.  She freezes.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Beau says gently, but Yasha’s not quite sure who she’s talking to. “Ellie, this is Yasha.”</p><p>A hand finds Yasha’s.  It’s small, bound in some sort of brace, but the second Yasha’s fingers take Ellie’s, there’s quiet, and Ellie lets out a soft <em> “Hmm.” </em></p><p>“Oh, she must <em> like </em> you,” Joel says. “She doesn’t do that for just anybody.”</p><p>“‘S that Kool-Aid?” Grog asks.</p><p>“No, the real stuff, big guy,” Joel says. “You like apple juice?”</p><p>“Yeah!”</p><p>Yasha’s fingers trace the hand in hers.</p><p>“We, uh, so, we’re involved with the Storm Lord Center,” Beau says. “Do you know about them?”</p><p>“They do wonderful work,” Joel answers.</p><p>Yasha finds the straps of the brace and carefully begins undoing them.</p><p>“They’re having a glow run to raise money for the new greenhouses, and we’re a team now,” Beau says. “Me, Yasha, and Grog.  And we’d like Ellie to be our fourth.”</p><p>“Teams need four,” Grog agrees. “‘Cept fer basketball.  And I think soccer.  And football.  But… uh… but <em> this </em> team needs four.”</p><p>“Oh,” Joel says. “I see.”</p><p>“We’re the Sparkliest Unicorns,” Beau says, sighing. “Our housemate came up with that.  Hence the shirts.”</p><p>She indicates the beautifully-glittered unicorn leaping across the bright purple of their shirts.</p><p>Yasha gently supports the arm attached to the braced hand as she removes the brace. “Hi,” she murmurs, taking the hand fully in hers, entwining their fingers. “I think we are going to be very good friends.”</p><p>There’s a little click, a little hum.  A little squeeze of the fingers.</p><p>Yasha squeezes back, and she smiles. “Very good friends indeed.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em><strike>falling</strike> flying</em>
</p><p>“I’m worried about falling.”</p><p>“I’ll catch you.”</p><p>“How can you catch me if you’re in front of me?  You won’t even be able to see me falling.”</p><p>Grog thinks about this. “Yeah, that’s true.  Who’s gonna catch you?”</p><p>He looks over at Beau, who’s sitting on the wall near the high school track they’ve commandeered for the morning. “Beau!  I need you to catch Yasha!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“If she falls.”</p><p>“Why’s she going to fall?”</p><p>“I said <em> if </em> she falls,” Grog points out.</p><p>“I don’t think she’s going to fall,” Beau says.</p><p>“Thanks for the confidence,” Yasha says, “but I haven’t really… done this before.”</p><p>“Running?  You haven’t… done running before?”</p><p>Yasha scowls. “Of <em> course </em> I’ve done running.  But not since I was <em> blind.” </em></p><p>Beau pushes herself off the wall and walks over. “And you don’t trust Grog?”</p><p>“No, I trust Grog,” Yasha says with a sigh. “I just… I won’t know what to do without a cane.”</p><p>“Just run,” Beau says.</p><p>Yasha reaches out, finds Beau’s shoulder, and punches it.</p><p>
  <em> “Ow!” </em>
</p><p>“If it was that simple, don’t you think I would be out there already?” Yasha asks.</p><p>Beau looks up into Yasha’s mismatched eyes.  There’s a furrow in her girlfriend’s brows. “It’s okay to be afraid.”</p><p>“I’m not <em> afraid,” </em> Yasha says softly.</p><p>“App-ree-hen-sive?” Grog offers from the side. “Pike told me that word.”</p><p>“I want to succeed,” Yasha says.</p><p>“You have to do something first to know whether or not you’ll succeed.  That’s why we’re practicing,” Beau says. “But if you want, I’ll run behind you and Grog while we wait for Joel and Ellie.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>“But I can’t catch you - you’re, like, so much taller than me,” Beau says. “I’ll just help you up and kiss your boo-boos if you do happen to fall down.”</p><p>Yasha smiles, and the furrow in her brow disappears.</p><p>“Here’s our tether,” Grog says. “It goes ‘round your waist.  An’ then one goes ‘round my waist.  Not the same one, obviously.”</p><p>Yasha runs her fingers over the belt now in her hands.  It’s stretchy.  She finds the buckle and puts it around her waist, clipping it securely. “Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath. “I think I’m ready.”</p><p>It’s weird to walk out on the track without her cane.  Yasha holds both of her hands out, moving slowly, treading carefully though she’s reasonably sure there aren’t any obstacles on the track.</p><p>“I’m gonna start running slow,” Grog says. “Keg says when you feel the tether start to get… what’s the word?  Un-stretchy?  Then you know it’s time to run with me too.  An’ I’ll do a countdown to tell you when.”</p><p>“Okay,” Yasha says.</p><p>Time both seems to slow down and speed up as she hears Grog’s footsteps move away from her.  She doesn’t have time to process any thoughts before she feels the stretchy band around her waist start to pull away from her, and she begins to move without thinking.</p><p>Her feet hit the track, <em> left right left right left-right-left-right, </em> and then she’s running.  <em> She’s running. </em></p><p>“Slight right turn ahead,” Grog says. “In three, two, one…”</p><p>Yasha moves to the right.  She feels the track arcing to meet her feet; the tether stretches and pulls back.</p><p>“Good job,” Grog says. “Now we’re gonna do another slight right turn.  In… in… three, two, one…”</p><p>They turn, the tether pulling out and back in against Yasha’s body, and she realizes there’s a smile on her face.</p><p>“Whoo!” Beau hollers, her voice <em> definitely </em> not right behind Yasha.</p><p>“You lied to me!” Yasha yells.</p><p>“Yeah, but you didn’t need me!  Look at you, you’re flying!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>perfect practice makes perfect</em>
</p><p>“Let’s go, candy floss!” Keg hollers. “Put some speed on!”</p><p>“What’s ‘candy floss’?” Grog asks.</p><p>“I have no idea,” Yasha tells him. “But I bet Beau does.”</p><p>From across the field, Beau yells, “Hey!  I’m tougher than that!”</p><p>Yasha laughs.</p><p>“Grog, remember your verbal cues!” Keg calls.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am!” Grog says, and though Yasha can’t see him, she’s pretty sure his statement is accompanied by a salute.  From what she’s observed, Grog hero-worships Keg and the ground she walks on. “Okay, Yasha, right turn coming up in three… two… one… now.”</p><p>Yasha turns to the right.</p><p>“Good teamwork!” Keg hollers. “Bring it in, unicorns!”</p><p>“Right turn in three… two… one… now,” Grog says, and Yasha turns.  The tether between them tightens, then goes slack, then tightens again as he slows.  She slows to match his pace and feels the ground under their feet change from the springy rubber of the track to the grass of the inside.  As they both stop, Grog reaches out to undo the tether from around Yasha’s waist.</p><p>“Good work out there, lady,” Keg says, close, and a cane goes into one of Yasha’s hands, a water bottle into the other.</p><p>“Thanks,” Yasha says.  She props the cane into her elbow and takes a long drink of water.</p><p>She hears a happy squeal to her left and turns to face Beau and Ellie as they come in from the track. “How’d you do?”</p><p>“Six seconds off our best lap,” Beau says. “And I think she’s weirdly more… <em> with it </em> tonight.  Right, Ellie?  You seem more awake.  Like, happier.”</p><p>“Good job,” Yasha says, and she puts her hand up for a high-five.  She’s decided she really likes them.</p><p>As always, Beau hits her hand, then brings Yasha’s hand down to hit Ellie’s. “How’d you guys do?”</p><p>“Yasha’s a real good runner,” Grog says. “Sometimes I turn around to look at her.”</p><p>“Grog, you’re not supposed to do that,” Keg says, sounding a little horrified. “What if you run into something?”</p><p>“We go in a circle!” Grog says.</p><p>“You won’t be going in a circle at the race,” Keg reminds him. “You’ll be on a course.”</p><p>“A course here,” Grog says. “I know this place better than I do my own house.”</p><p>“While I believe that, I want you and Yasha to be safe, okay, buddy?”</p><p>“Okay,” Grog says, sounding a bit chastened.</p><p>“But you did a great job,” Keg says. “You ready to head home?”</p><p>“Yeah!  Bye, Yasha!” Grog reaches over and pulls Yasha’s hand up for another high-five, slapping their palms together. “See you later.”</p><p>“Bye, Grog.  Bye, Keg,” Beau says.</p><p>Then it’s the three of them on the track, Beau and Yasha and Ellie.  Yasha moves over to Ellie’s chair and sits down in the grass, taking Ellie’s hand in hers. “Did you have a good run?”</p><p>
  <em> “Hmm.” </em>
</p><p>“We did,” Beau confirms.  She plops down in the grass next to Yasha and kisses Yasha’s cheek.</p><p>“Gross,” Yasha says.</p><p>“You love it.”</p><p>“I love <em> you, </em> and for that reason I’ll overlook sweaty kisses.”</p><p>
  <em> “Hmm.” </em>
</p><p>“Yash.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Are you… happy?”</p><p>Yasha squeezes Ellie’s hand and gets a small finger tense in response.  Under what she’s choosing to imagine is a beautiful sunset sky, sitting in the grass with her girlfriend, limbs pleasantly aching from exertion rather than pain, relaxed and thinking only of good things, Yasha can’t think of a time in the past eight months she’s been happier. “Of course I am.  Are… are <em> you </em> happy?”</p><p>“I’m always happy when you’re with me,” Beau answers. “Always.”</p><p>She leans into Yasha. “What could make this better?”</p><p>Yasha gently shifts Ellie’s hand in hers. “Ice cream?”</p><p>“Now you’re thinking,” Beau says. “Ellie, thoughts on ice cream?”</p><p>
  <em> “Huh.” </em>
</p><p>“You know she doesn’t eat, right?” Yasha says. “Not… with her mouth.  Just with her feeding tube.”</p><p>“I know,” Beau says, “but that doesn’t mean she can’t have <em> thoughts </em> on it.  You don’t see, but I always ask you how I look.  And Jester always asks you before she puts up a new painting in the hallway.”</p><p>“That is true.”</p><p>“Ladies, am I interrupting?”</p><p>Beau turns to see Joel coming across the track towards them. “Not a thing, sir.”</p><p>“I’m so glad you’ve been doin’ this,” Joel says. “Mostly for your health, but the folks at the sports bar are really enjoying my custom.”</p><p>He leans down and kisses Ellie on the top of the head. “How are ya, baby girl?”</p><p>
  <em> “Hh… eye.” </em>
</p><p>Yasha can’t believe what she’s hearing. “What?”</p><p><em> “Hhhuh.  Huh…” </em> The fingers in Yasha’s grip tighten. <em> “Huhhh… eye.” </em></p><p>“Baby girl,” Joel breathes. “That was… that was your voice.”</p><p>And then Yasha’s picked up from the ground, arms wrapped around her, and Joel whispering, “Thank you, thank you, <em> thank you.” </em></p><p> </p><p>That night Yasha sleeps seamlessly, unwaking, the worries and nightmares that once held her down replaced now by the fantasy of hearing more of Ellie’s voice, of the excitement of running, running, <em> running </em> with Grog towards some lit finish line, stars overhead and the whole world welcoming once more.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>look where you're glowing</em>
</p><p>The course for the glow run spreads across the entire campus of the Storm Lord Center.  Race staff clad in glowing jewelry and blacklight-reactive clothing wave lighted wands, directing participants to the starting line.  The entire night is shining, bright green and yellow and pink.  Loud music sets up a bassline, as familiar as a heartbeat.  Crowds of people swarm the race booths, all ages and abilities clustering around the booths for shirts, food, face-painting, and other goodies.  There is a distinct air of happiness among the attendants.</p><p>“This is awesome!” Grog says.  He looks absolutely ridiculous in his Sparkliest Unicorns T-shirt and the tiara of glowsticks Jester made for him, but Beau loves it. “I’m so excited to run!”</p><p>“This is wild,” Joel says.  He’s a little more subdued, <em> sans </em> glowstick tiara, but still representing the Sparkliest Unicorns in a purple T-shirt. “I haven’t… this is wild.”</p><p>“There’s so many people here,” Yasha says.  She feels slightly drunk, the vibrations of the crowd pushing against her in waves.</p><p>“Not all of them are running,” Beau says. “The crowd will thin out when the race starts.  Do you want a glowing drink cup?”</p><p>“I won’t be able to tell if it’s glowing or not, so… get whatever you want.”</p><p>Beau squeezes Yasha’s hand. “Don’t be nervous.  We’ve trained so much for this, and now we can just have fun.  We don’t have to win.  It’s all just for fun.”</p><p>Yasha hadn’t even <em> thought </em> about winning. “For fun,” she repeats.</p><p>“That’s all this is,” Beau says. “Fun, remember?”</p><p>Yasha tries to swallow and finds her throat dry.</p><p>“We’re gonna do great,” Grog declares. “The best ever.”</p><p>The pre-race festivities come to a close and the race fans separate from the racers.</p><p>“We’ll be at the finish line,” Dr. Trickfoot tells Grog.</p><p>“I’ve got the big sign with the glowing arrow on it,” Keg says.</p><p>“I’ll look for you, but you’re both really short,” Grog says.</p><p>“I’ll be next to them, so you could look for me,” Joel offers.</p><p>Grog sizes up the man. “Okay, that’s better.”</p><p>“You should <em> really </em> look for me,” Jester says. “I’m gonna get cotton candy for everybody.  Fjord can help me carry it.”</p><p>“I’ll look for you too,” Grog agrees.</p><p>Joel leans down and kisses Ellie on the forehead. “Have fun, baby girl.  Do your best.”</p><p><em> “Huh,” </em> Ellie says. <em> “Huh.  Buh.  Eye.” </em></p><p>“And you,” Joel says to Beau, “don’t flip the wheelchair again.”</p><p>“That was <em> one time, </em> and we were both fine,” Beau protests.</p><p>Joel laughs. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”</p><p>Grog hands Yasha the tether and she snaps it around her waist.</p><p>“You’re the best partner ever,” Grog says, his voice close. “You’re a really good gardener, and a really good runner, and you have a nice smile.”</p><p>“Is this a pep talk?” Yasha asks.  She feels a little giddy.</p><p>“Yeah.  Keg tried to tell me how to give one, but she used all these weird words.  She was saying stuff like <em> remember, you’re a champion </em> and <em> the champion is within you </em> and I got confused, so I decided to just say true stuff instead.”</p><p>“Oh.  Well, in that case… I’m so glad you’re my partner in running and gardening,” Yasha says.</p><p>“You’re my second-favorite partner,” Grog says. “Pike’s my first, but only ‘cause I met her first.”</p><p>The music dulls to a low roar and the night’s emcee’s voice rings out across the grounds. “All right, folks!  Thanks for coming out tonight to the Storm Lord Center’s annual 5K!  This year we’re running to build accessible greenhouses - so give it your best shot!  Stay on the lighted paths and <em> have fun!” </em></p><p>“See, even Scooter Chiseled-chin, local weatherman, knows what’s up,” Beau says to Yasha. “Have fun.”</p><p>“Have fun,” Yasha repeats, even though she’s pretty sure that’s not the weatherman’s name.</p><p>“I love you,” Beau says, and she leans over to kiss Yasha’s cheek.</p><p>“I love you too,” Yasha says.  She takes Beau’s arm and runs her fingers over the Braille tattoo.</p><p>“If you’re ready, we’ve got a race to run!” the emcee yells. “On your marks, get set, go!”</p><p>A loud horn blares.  Yasha feels the tether pull away from her as Grog starts running, and her feet begin to move.  She hears Grog shout to her, checking to make sure she can hear his voice. “I’m good!” she calls back.</p><p>Beau waits a handful of seconds before starting to run, watching to make sure Yasha and Grog get started safely.  Grog weaves through the space, Yasha following.  It’s bizarre to see Yasha cane-less.</p><p>Ellie chirps impatiently, and Beau breaks out of her reverie, beginning to run. “Sorry, Ell.  I just get caught up in how pretty Yasha is sometimes.”</p><p>
  <em> “Hmm.” </em>
</p><p>“Yeah, I know.  I’ve got a one-track mind.  But you've got eyes, you can see why I might be a bit distracted.”</p><p>They run off into the glowstick-lit night, the cheers of the crowd reverberating against the heavy pulses of the music blaring towards the sky.</p><p>It’s easy to keep track of Yasha, who’s wearing a Day-Glo green vest over her Sparkliest Unicorns T-shirt, plastered with the legend “BLIND RUNNER” in bold lettering.  Beau tries to match Yasha’s pace, Ellie’s wheelchair rolling smoothly across the paved paths.</p><p>In the chair, Ellie’s babbling away.  Her voice has become stronger and more frequent throughout their practice runs, her yelling and clicking dropping away to make almost-understandable words. <em> “Hah.  Bah.  Ruh.  Ruh.  Ruh.” </em></p><p>“Run,” Beau agrees. “You got it.”</p><p>Slightly ahead of them, Grog calls out, “Small left-hand turn up ahead, Yasha, in three… two… one.”</p><p>Yasha follows his instructions, Grog’s words peppering in the spaces between her sneakered feet hitting the ground.  The race has given them a rhythm and they’re all just wacky percussionists trying to keep up.</p><p> </p><p>The night is cool and the sky is star-studded.  When they cross the finish line the cheering is so loud that Yasha can barely hear Grog, even though he’s grabbed her hands and is shouting, “We did it!  We did it!”</p><p>“We did it!” Yasha agrees, slightly dazed.</p><p>Then there are arms around her, many arms, and everyone is cheering.  Yasha can’t stop grinning.  Beau grabs her and kisses her and Yasha leans into her.</p><p>“Thanks for never giving up on me,” Yasha whispers.</p><p>Beau looks out across the glowstick night, at Joel scooping Ellie out of her wheelchair to hug her, at Fjord and Jester and Keg and Dr. Trickfoot, all clapping and grinning, and then back at Yasha, whose dual-colored eyes are glowing back all of the green and yellow and hot pink and blue lights around them.  Her throat clenches powerfully with love, and when she speaks, the words struggle to come out around all of that adoration.</p><p>“What, and miss all this?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can find me on Tumblr as memorysdaughter.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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